Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Difficult though it was, Chloe managed not to cry out in astonishment at the strange man’s appearance.
Tall but dishevelled, the gentleman had long hair that was tangled and gave his jaw a rakish look.
His shirt was half buttoned, and there was a dark frown on his face from what she could make out in the darkness – but all it did was strengthen the impression of power on his features.
He was the most handsome man she had ever seen. Breath completely taken away, Chloe took an unsure step into the room, almost unable to help herself. Just being a step nearer to him was enough, but the pull inside her was demanding another step and another.
“What the hell are you doing here?” The man barked at her, and the illumination from a flash of lightning outlined his silhouette, and making him look even taller than he was.
Chloe shivered, but not entirely with fear. Although she instinctively moved to take a step backwards, something in her fought it, and she instead dropped into a curtsey and then moved forward.
The door closed behind her.
She swallowed. “I must apologise for my intrusion; I – ”
“It is an intrusion,” snapped the man, “and you are not wanted. You may go back to wherever it was you came from.”
Without looking at her, almost as though she was repellent to him, the man strode over to the armchair by the empty fire grate, throwing himself into it without a word.
Chloe stared at the side of his head, now tilted away from her. Rain thrashed onto the windows, drumming their constant patterns on the glass. The single lamp in the room, beside one of the casements, cast a strange twilight glimmer over the room and its bizarre inhabitant.
If she had expected the strange gentleman to say anything more, she was to be mistaken, and irritation welled up in her once more that day.
Why was she always surrounded by angry, arrogant men?
Was it not enough that she was not considered enough of a natural philosopher simply because she was female – was she now to be ignored just because she existed?
Striding forward, Chloe pulled aside a small table to stand right before the gentleman, who started as if forgetting that she had even been in the room.
“I would never have considered coming here,” she said tartly, glaring at the gentleman in his astonishment, “unless it was absolutely necessary – and as you can see, due to this raging storm, I am soaking wet!”
The gentleman glared, but then his features softened slightly as his eyes focused on her. Considering her properly for the first time, he stared at her…but not only at her face.
As another roll of thunder moved overhead, Chloe felt her cheeks start to darken as she realised just where his gaze was moving: down her slender neck to her breasts, heaving with anger, her gown glistening and tight against her flesh because of the rain – and then further down to her hips, swelling through the clinging material.
This was intolerable. She tried to think, but a part of her glorified in the power she evidentially had over the man whose mouth had opened slightly – in hunger, or in disgust, she could not tell.
But those eyes: dark and monstrous as they were, there seemed to be some kindness in them, and there was certainly desire in there. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks now, and Chloe thanked her stars that the single lamp in the room was not sufficient to highlight them.
Chloe sighed. “You did not ask me to come here,” she murmured quietly, heart rate slowing. “My name is Chloe Vaughn, daughter of Sir William and Lady Vaughn, of Chequerbent, and I am very grateful that your butler has given me refuge during the storm.”
She looked down at him expectantly. By all the rules and regulations of society, such a formal introduction would immediately warrant a similar form from the gentleman, giving his name, parents, and place of residence.
By all the rules of society maybe, but this gentleman obviously had no care for such things. His eyes had moved away from her now, to a point somewhere to her left, and he grunted without saying a word.
Paying no heed to the dampness of her gown – nor the damage that it could impart to any furnishings – Chloe sank slowly into the chaise longue opposite him.
“Of course,” she breathed. “I was foolish not to have realised.”
“Realised what?” He snapped, refusing to turn his gaze to her but seemingly unable to ignore her completely.
Chloe shook her head slowly. “I do not know why it did not occur to me before. You are Sir Moses Wandorne, baronet.”
“What of it?”
A flash of lightning threw the room into glorious light for a brief second, and Chloe gasped. The look of pain, anger, self-loathing and curiosity was an enigma opposite her, and yet none of the conflicting emotions did anything to lessen the attractiveness of the owner of the house.
Chloe shook her head slightly, as though trying to rid the storm from her mind. And then she smiled. “I was beached, sir, on your lake. Surely your magnificent house, Sir Moses, is large enough for the two of us for one night?”
His eyes darted to her and narrowed slightly.
“All I ask is to stay indoors as the storm rages and dry off,” Chloe said meekly. “‘Tis not an unreasonable request, sir.”
Sir Moses Wandorne was barely able to conceal his surprise, even now that the lady was seated and not glistening in a tantalising way before him.
There was a woman – a young woman – in his house. Right here, in his library. Here, in his house. The fact was shocking, almost upsetting, to him. Confusion rushed through his bloodstream, pumped around his mind by a heart that seemed treacherous to his body, drowning him in bewilderment.
There had not been another person in his house since…well, then. Except Baxter, of course, and for some reason he never did count him.
Unable to help himself, desperate to take in her face once more, his eyes strayed over to her again – and Miss Chloe Vaughn was staring defiantly back at him. Moses looked away from her quickly.
How could this have happened? After trying to avoid the world for the last year, the world had managed to force its way back into his life.
By God, but she was beautiful. Fair, and fragile at first glance, but the longer he looked the more strength and determination he saw.
Grit, that was it. The shape of her eyes was truly mesmerising and the mere memory of them was enough to fill him with all sorts of thoughts that were most unsavoury, and at the same time delicious.
“Well?”
Moses started. He had been pondering on the exact shade of her eyes – green? grey? – that he had almost forgotten that she was still seated before him. A pair of diamond earrings shone from under her hair, catching the light from the single candle. What had she asked?
Unable to think of anything to say and embarrassed at his lack of concentration, Moses just glared at her.
“I said,” she spoke in a slightly forced tone now, “that I was beached on your lake and intend to stay here indoors as the storm rages.”
Moses swallowed. The idea of having her here, here in his home, was tantalising. She was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, and something in him stirred as he took in the wet gown, the curve of her breasts, her very breathing –
He nodded, barely trusting his own voice.
“Oh, thank you, kind sir,” Chloe was now saying in a grateful voice. “I cannot tell you how thankful I am.”
Moses nodded once more. Unable to face further conversation, he picked up a book from the nearest table, lowering his gaze to a random page, the better to attempt to ignore her.
It was impossible. He was startled not just by her presence, but by how similar she was to … to … And yet she was definitely real; the water stain that was spreading across the chaise longue could not be wished away.
“Have you eaten this night?”
Moses determinedly kept his eyes down when he heard the question and shook his head – but even without looking, he could feel her gaze upon him.
It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand out, forcing a shiver up his spine.
By God, he was a baronet, not just chit of a lad from the country.
How could this woman do such things to him?
“And when are you going to eat?”
Swallowing, Moses shrugged. He did not owe this woman any conversation; if she was determined to force it, then all he could do was give the absolute minimum answers.
“You must eat, Sir Moses. Why have you not yet eaten, as ‘tis nearly nine o’clock?”
Why won’t she stop asking questions? Moses raised his eyes to her and saw nothing but good nature, and it burnt him like a brand as it came into contact with his constant bad temper.
“You are making that seat damp,” he barked gruffly, ignoring all her comments about food and meals.
Miss Vaughn jumped up hastily, and Moses was relieved to see a little embarrassment on her face. So, she was not totally immune to it either – but she was no fool.
“That is as may be,” she snapped back. “But your book is upside down, Sir Moses, and I am surprised that you did not notice that sooner.”
Mortification rushed through him as Moses glanced down and saw that she was absolutely right and turned it around hastily – but before he could say anything more, Miss Vaughn was moving across the room.
“And why have you not eaten yet?” She asked, peering out of one of the windows.
Now that she was not staring at him, Moses relaxed slightly, and closed the book with his finger marking the page. “I am not hungry.”
“Not at all?” Miss Vaughn raised a hand to stroke the velvet of the curtains, and Moses watched her, unable to look away, as she stopped hastily, feeling the dust on her fingertips. “What is there to eat, may I ask?”